


Don't let it end this way

by BecauseImClassy



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Karen's life sucks, Matt's life sucks, Porn With Plot, Reconciliation, Shameless Smut, boy season 2 sure was a train wreck, let's all analyze our feelings, let's all analyze that too, lots of internal monologuing, lots of talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:00:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BecauseImClassy/pseuds/BecauseImClassy
Summary: Post-season 2. Karen is trying to put her life back together after the breakup of Nelson & Murdock, and trying not to think about Matt. It doesn't work out quite the way she planned.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I already wrote one Matt/Karen reconciliation fic, back in April. But that doesn't mean I can't think of other ways it might happen! This is a completely different take, unrelated to all my other post-season 2 stuff.
> 
> It grew out of me thinking, it's really not realistic to think that Karen could just walk into a journalism career, when as far as we know she has no qualifications. And also, Matt and Foggy's breakup must have really hurt her, more than I (or the show) went into before. And I wanted to explore that, so I decided to write a much angstier version of her post-season 2 life.
> 
> And while the first time, I had her take Matt back without actually talking about any of what he did, except in the most general terms, this time they're gonna talk about it. I couldn't have written this version back in April, it was too hard to get my head around everything Matt did, I couldn't even imagine what he was thinking. Now that I've had a lot of time to think about it, this is what I came up with. I hope no one minds all the internal monologuing.
> 
> The title is taken from the Styx song, because my love of 80s music knows no shame.

Foggy told her, “Matt and I are breaking up the firm, Karen. I’m sorry, but after everything he’s done, I can’t work with him any more.” Her life fell apart right then, but she was too busy to notice, determined to chase down the truth about Frank Castle. Desperate to believe, for her own sake as much as his, that a killer didn’t have to be a monster.

And she had found the truth, but it brought her no comfort, no absolution for her own sins. In the end, Frank killed again, even though she begged him not to, and disappeared out of her life, a fugitive. And while she was engaged on her one-woman crusade, Nelson & Murdock had dissolved, and gone their separate ways. It was a devastating blow, once she had time to take it in. Her position in Matt and Foggy’s firm was much more to her than just a job.

Karen was a survivor. She had come through low points before, in her former life, with determination and anger and sheer stubbornness; finally cutting her losses, burning her bridges, and moving to New York to start over.

She had found a job and built a life for herself, but her past still shadowed her. She wanted to believe in the good in people, but things like trust, like friendship, didn’t come easily. Her new life had been a lonely one, until she met two young lawyers, in business for less than a day, and her life had changed.

When she was in trouble, Matt and Foggy had believed her, and helped her, and then given her a place with them. A place to do good, to help other people, to fight against corruption. More, they had welcomed her into the warm circle of their friendship, that she had thought then was unbreakable.

They made her believe in possibility—that she could be the good person she wanted to be. They helped her get over the nightmares she never told them she had, just by being who they were, and caring, and giving her a place to belong. Even after her worst nights, her days were bright enough to chase away the shadows. Eventually, she had even begun to believe in the possibility of love.

Until Matt Murdock had brought it all crashing down around her.

Now, she and Foggy remained friends, but she didn’t see him nearly as often as she’d like. He was working hard to establish himself at Hogarth, Chao, & Benowitz, and he didn’t have much free time. But besides that, she knew that seeing her reminded him of Matt. He never said so, but he didn’t have to. And he was trying, just as she was, not to think about Matt. He was trying to distance himself from the wreckage of the past, and if right now that meant distancing himself from Karen, too, she could hardly blame him.

* * * * *

Matt told her, “I’m Daredevil,” and things fell apart again, but in a different way. 

She thought she had made a clean break and walked away, from a man she couldn’t trust. A man who had been hiding something, fairly obviously, for as long as she’d known him; and who had finally stopped even trying to cover up his deceptions, abandoning pretense and simply shutting her out. He had hurt her, and hurt Foggy, and hadn’t even bothered trying to fix things.

If she meant as little to him as that, then she was done. Once, she had thought she could love him, secrets and all. But that only made the rupture more painful. Better to have never kissed him, never gone on their one date, never dreamed of what it would be like to take him to bed and lie in his arms all night, than to have him hold out the hope of happiness and then snatch it away.

Karen knew how to cut her losses, she had done it before. It was too late for explanations. What could he possibly say to excuse everything he’d done?

The last thing she had ever expected.

_I’m Daredevil._

He told her about his enhanced senses, and his training, and almost against her will she believed him. He told her who the people were that she had seen in his apartment. The woman she’d seen in his bed. He told her everything, and the axis of the world shifted beneath her feet.

It answered everything she had ever questioned about him. Matt—deceptive, unreliable Matt—was Daredevil, the man she had always believed in, who had saved her life, more than once. To whom she had felt undeniably drawn, attracted despite the state of fear she was in whenever she saw him. Everything she thought she knew, everything she felt about both men was changed.

She heard him out, apologies as well as explanations, trying to take it all in.

When he was finished, she asked the first question that came to mind: “Does Foggy know?”

Matt hung his head. “Yes. He didn’t, at first. He found out last year. That’s what caused that big fight we had. He wanted me to tell you the truth then, and I wish to god I had.”

It was another blow, that Foggy had lied to her, too. But she knew it wasn’t fair to blame him. Matt’s secrets weren’t Foggy’s to tell, and he hadn’t told them, even now when he and Matt were no longer friends. And he hadn’t wanted to lie, he had urged Matt to come clean. No, Foggy wasn’t at fault here. Matt was.

“So why tell me now?” she asked. “I mean, I’m glad you did, it’s about damn time. But what made you decide to do it, after you’ve ruined everything? What are you trying to accomplish?”

“It’s not about accomplishing anything. It’s about making amends. I ruined everything, you’re right. But this is one thing, maybe the only thing, I can rectify. You deserve the truth. I trust you, and I…I still care for you. Whatever happens next, I’m through lying to you.”

It didn’t excuse everything he’d done, all the hurt he’d caused. But at least now she understood what had motivated him. The pressure he’d been under.

Did it change anything?

Was it too late?

In the end, she told him, “I’m going to need some time to process all of this. It’s a lot to take in.” Her voice was blank and tired from the shock, devoid of emotion. She felt like a sponge saturated in information, unable to absorb any more. "I can’t talk to you right now. I just…I need time. Don’t call me.” A little grudgingly, she added, “Thanks for telling me. Better late then never.”

He nodded, as if her rejection was no more than he expected. As she brushed past him to the door, he softly said, “Take care.”

* * * * *

She had taken her time—it had been two months now. But she hadn’t processed what she’d learned. She simply tried not to think about it. It was too much, she couldn’t spare the energy. She was still angry at Matt, and not yet ready to give up her anger. But also, she was focused on trying to make a new life for herself, and it wasn’t easy.

With the breakup of Nelson & Murdock, she had no job, and no money. When she first started working for Matt and Foggy, she’d had a financial cushion—the hush money she’d been paid by Union Allied, six months’ salary. But that money was long gone. She had spent some of it on antiquated office equipment for the struggling law firm, and lived on the rest until they started to make enough money to pay her.

She had reduced her expenses, cutting out unnecessary frills, moving into a cheaper apartment, convinced that the firm would succeed given time. She had bought herself as much time as she could, and by the time she was earning enough to (just barely) meet her expenses, her cushion was spent. She had poured all her resources into Nelson & Murdock, putting all her eggs in one basket. 

And then Matt had ripped that basket apart.

She had turned to Mitch Ellison, editor of the Daily Bulletin, for help. She had no journalism experience. But Ellison knew she was smart and determined, and knew that Ben Urich had trusted her despite what he’d found out about her past. And the holidays were a slow season for news, and he had column inches he needed to fill. So he agreed to give her a shot.

 _What is it, to be a hero? Look in the mirror and you’ll know._

She put her whole heart into her first article, but when Ellison read it, he told her, “This isn’t what I asked you for.”

Karen was taken aback, and hurt, though she tried not to show it.

He went on, “You can write, I can see that. But this—this isn’t journalism. Too many emotional flourishes. Used sparingly, emotional appeal isn’t necessarily bad. But it can’t be the point of the whole piece. This is a newspaper, Karen, not a support group. Try again, without all the window-dressing, and just…tell me a story.” He looked at her, not unkindly, and added, “And don’t ever take editorial criticism personally. You need a thick skin to work in this business.”

So she swallowed her hurt, and tried again, rewriting her article until she managed to produce something Ellison was willing to print.

“You’re a quick study,” he conceded. “That’s good. But you’ve still got a lot to learn. Go through the archives. Read Ben’s old stuff, that’ll give you a good idea of what kind of writing I’m looking for.”

“I’ve read his stuff, that’s why I went to him in the first place when I was digging into Union Allied.”

“I don’t mean just his investigative pieces. Read his more mundane, everyday articles. See how he wrote when he wasn’t covering a controversy.”

Karen had little interest in mundane, everyday articles. “The way he wrote when he was covering things he didn’t care about, you mean?”

Ellison shrugged blandly. “If you say so.”

“You didn’t let him cover the stories he wanted to,” she charged.

“That’s right, I didn’t. And I’m not going to let you, either. Make up your mind to that, and learn how to write the boring stuff, if you expect to stay on here. Publishing is a business, and this place is barely staying afloat. I have to print what will sell papers, or we go under and everyone in this office is out of a job. That’s the reality, Karen. No use beating your head against it.”

It made no sense to her that people wouldn’t want to buy a paper that covered the big, important stories. She wanted to tell the world about all the wrongs she could uncover. How else would things ever get better? But it seemed the world—or at least, the readership of the Daily Bulletin—didn’t want to know.

Seething with frustration, she did as Ellison said and dove into the archives. She read everything she could find by Ben Urich, and got a sense of proper journalistic writing style. But she also learned just how much of Ben’s output had been fluff, compared with his actual news stories. It was a depressing picture, with the ratio of fluff increasing over the years, and hard news stories becoming fewer and farther between. As the weeks went by, and she wrote the uninspiring assignments Ellison gave her, she wondered: could she do it? Could she bring herself to churn out pap for months on end, for the sake of the increasingly rare chance to do something real, something meaningful?

There were also more practical considerations to think of. As Ellison had said, the paper was barely solvent. Karen was now earning even less money than she’d made at Nelson & Murdock. And she could hardly demand more—she was a rank neophyte, with no journalism degree, no training, no experience. She could also admit, in her more honest moments, that she was frequently a pain in Ellison’s ass. She was in no position to try and negotiate for better pay.

She had already cut her expenses to the bone. She had been late paying her rent enough times that her landlord’s tolerance was running out. It looked like she was going to have to find someplace cheaper, again, and soon. Was it worth it, to keep a job that was proving disappointing and deeply unsatisfying?

She knew that Foggy would lend her money if she asked. Or, more likely, give it to her outright. But she was stubbornly determined to make a success of things on her own if she possibly could. And anyway, if he knew how badly off she really was he might feel responsible. If he hadn’t left Nelson & Murdock, she wouldn’t have lost her job. She didn’t want him feeling guilty for Matt’s faults.

Maybe she should go back to what she was actually trained to do, what she had the most experience at, and be a secretary again. When the thought first came to her, she rejected it out of hand. It felt too much like giving up. But as time ground on, and the threat of eviction stared her in the face, financial security became all she could think about.

It probably shouldn’t have surprised her when she started having nightmares again. Her waking life was filled with anxiety and unhappiness, and her sleeping mind responded with violence. All her nightmares from a year ago were back: some nights it was Wilson Fisk coming to kill her; some nights, the man she she’d killed, blood pouring out of him, stared at her in shock; some nights she stood frozen, unable to move, while Foggy and Matt were killed in front of her.

The last one was the most disturbing, especially in her current state. No matter how angry she was at Matt, she didn’t want him to _die._ But in the dream, her anger was gone, and there was only fear, and horror, and guilt that she hadn’t been able to prevent his death…and love. Awake, she shied away from even thinking about him, but in her sleep she longed for him, and her heart broke to have him taken from her.

She would wake confused and frightened, her emotions deeply unsettled. One night she nearly called him, at three o’clock in the morning, and could only stop herself by reminding herself that all her current troubles were caused by him, directly or indirectly. How could she want him, when she was still suffering the effects of his actions? She deliberately stoked her anger, some of it turning on herself for her lack of fortitude. _One bad dream, and you want to run crying back to him? NO._

And then, a few nights later, she saw him. She was on her way home after dark, cold, hungry, short on sleep, calculating grimly whether she could afford to pick up takeout, or would have to settle for instant noodles when she got home, when she heard the sounds of fighting in an alley just ahead.

She approached cautiously, sticking close to the wall, and peeked around the corner. There was Daredevil, fighting three men at once. Karen stared, fascinated despite herself. This was the first time she had ever seen him fight since learning who he was. That was _Matt,_ with a club in each hand, knocking men’s guns out of reach as soon as they drew, delivering flipping, spinning kicks that seemed to defy gravity. It was graceful, and brutal, and mesmerizing.

Once again she felt drawn to him, the attraction she’d felt before only amplified now that she knew he was Matt. Matt, who she had always been attracted to, even now in her anger. He was dangerous. He was beautiful. And seeing him now, for the first time in two months, she was suddenly, painfully aware of how much she missed him. Bitterly, against her will, she missed him.

As she watched, one man broke away from the fight and ran for it. Karen shrank back into the shadows, and he dashed past without noticing her. The other two redoubled their efforts. Matt redoubled his. Lithe and powerful, he unleashed a hail of hits and kicks, agilely avoiding their attacks, seemingly untouched when they did manage to strike him, unstoppable. What light there was in the alley caught his face as he turned momentarily in her direction, and she saw him smile fiercely.

She sucked in her breath, shocked. That smile. Was he _happy?_ After everything that had happened? The impression he had left the last time they spoke was of remorse, sadness, guilt, resignation. But after all, now he was free to do as he liked. There was no one left in his life to argue, or criticize. To distract him from doing what mattered to him the most, apparently—saving the city with vigilante justice. He looked like he _enjoyed_ this life.

She had told him not to contact her, but a sudden, cold thought came to her unbidden: what if he no longer wanted to? It struck her to the heart, the thought that maybe he preferred his new life, without her. It was more than she could bear, that he should be _happy_ while she wallowed in misery and frustration, struggling just to keep her head above water.

Tears threatened to overwhelm her. She kept them back by sheer force of will. She gulped down sobs as Matt’s opponents finally fell to the ground, out cold. She leaned back and squeezed her eyes shut. She was _not_ going to cry. She pressed her head against the wall, waiting for him to leave so she could move on without drawing his attention.

* * * * *

Matt stood panting, surveying the unconscious men. Low-level henchmen, both of them. The one with the information, the one who knew what he had hoped to learn tonight, had escaped. These two had prevented him from following, long enough that now his quarry was long gone, vanished into the vast sea of people that made up Hell’s Kitchen. Was it worth even trying to find him again tonight?

A muffled sob caught his ear, interrupting his frustrated thoughts. He had been peripherally aware, as he fought, of the presence of another person at the mouth of the alley. But he had had no attention to spare. As long as the outsider didn’t interfere, he ignored them for the more pressing concerns of combat. But now, with that sob, his attention snapped to the corner of the building, his senses focused on what sounded like someone in distress.

 _Karen!_ He recognized her instantly. He heard her short, gulping breaths, the sound of tears being suppressed, and ran to her without a second thought.

“Karen?”

She started back with a startled exclamation as Matt abruptly appeared beside her. Right. Enhanced senses. Of _course_ he had noticed her. _Fuck._

“Are you all right?” he was asking urgently. “The man who got away, did he hurt you?”

“No, no, he didn’t even see me. I’m fine.” She glared at him, anger coming to her aid as it so often did, stiffening her spine. “I’m trying to get home, I was just waiting for you to finish whatever that was—“ she waved a hand toward the alley, “—so I could be on my way. There’s no need for you to…” she trailed off with another gulp.

“No need for me to make sure you aren’t hurt, when I could hear you trying not to cry?” His senses drank her in, all the sounds and smells that had been missing from his life for the last two cold, endless months. And she was _not_ fine—he could sense stress and exhaustion. Her heartbeat was too rapid, her breathing too shallow. He wanted to reach out to her, to take her in his arms, but knew he had no right. “No need for me to care?” he asked quietly.

“ _Do_ you care?” She threw words at him like knives. “You’re happy. You’re doing what you want. My life’s gone completely to shit, and it’s your fault!”

He took a step back in sheer disbelief. “Happy?” he flung back, incredulous. “You think I’m _happy?_ ”

“You were smiling,” she accused. “When you were fighting those men just now. I saw you, you were smiling.”

He frowned, thinking back. Then he sighed, and took off his helmet so she could see all of his face. “That wasn’t happiness,” he told her. “That was just adrenaline. Yes, I enjoy beating the shit out of people who deserve it. It’s cathartic. But that’s about the only thing I enjoy about my life.” He laughed, short and bitter. “Happy,” he repeated, like it was a bad joke.

She looked at him closely. He was gaunt, the lines of his cheekbones and jaw mare sharply defined than they used to be. There were new lines etched into his face, and dark shadows under his eyes. And his expression was resigned and grim, as if everything was awful, and he had no reason to think it was going to get better. No, he wasn’t happy, any more than she was.

And then it hit her that he’d unmasked, in public, and she snapped, “Put that back on, you idiot, before someone sees you!”

He did as he was told, a tiny flicker of hope flaring in his heart despite her tone. She still felt some concern for his welfare, however limited. Then his mind returned to the rest of what she’d said a moment ago.

“Your life’s gone to shit?” he questioned. “What happened? Isn’t your new job working out? I had hoped—“ a muffled groan made them both turn sharply toward the alley. “We can’t talk here,” he said hurriedly. He thought quickly. “I’m going to go home. If you want to continue this conversation, come over. If you want to yell at me, that’s fine. I’ll listen. But get out of here now, before those two wake up.”

She needed no urging. He stayed by her side while she crossed the mouth of the alley, then dropped back to keep the men under observation while she made her escape. He wanted to go with her, to escort her safely wherever she decided to go, but he knew she wouldn’t allow it. And anyway, she might need time to herself to think before deciding if she wanted to take him up on his offer. So he stayed behind, where he could make sure that these two criminals, at least, wouldn’t threaten her safety, listening to her footsteps receding in the distance.

What could have happened to her? Her voice had been all hard edges and pain. The last he knew of her she’d found a job at the Daily Bulletin. It seemed like a perfect fit for her, with her talent for investigation. So what had gone wrong?

When he judged she was far enough away to be safe, he headed for home by the fastest route he knew, to be sure he got there before she did. _If_ she did. God, he hoped she would.

He missed her terribly. He knew he had hurt her, and he didn’t blame her for wanting time, and distance, to come to terms with what he had done, and the truth he had finally told her. But as weeks turned into months, he had begun to wonder if she was ever going to speak to him again. Had he lost her forever? Would the penance for his sins be as heavy as that?

By day, he continued his law practice as best he could alone. His heart wasn’t in it without Foggy, but there were still people in Hell’s Kitchen who needed legal help and couldn’t afford anyone else. And he needed to do something to earn money, however little. It gave him some satisfaction, helping people, doing good. But it was a chilly, distant feeling, not the warm glow he had felt working with the people he loved, their tiny firm ready to take on the world together.

Left on his own, he had plenty of time to think over the past, and to regret his mistakes. He had treated Karen with a thoughtlessness that appalled him in retrospect. From the night of their first and only date, from the moment he had learned what Elektra was really doing in New York, and what she really wanted from him, Karen had not ever had his full attention. He had still cared for her, still wanted to be with her, yet somehow Elektra’s problems had consumed more and more of his time and energy.

And instead of telling Karen the truth, and asking for her understanding and patience, he had shut her out. Taken her for granted, placated her with kisses and lies, and snuck off to meet another woman. He had told Elektra plainly that he had no interest in re-kindling old flames, and had naively thought that would be enough to preserve his relationship with Karen from jeopardy.

How could he have been so foolish? When had keeping Karen Page in the dark ever been a successful strategy, for anyone? More importantly, she deserved better than that. Even before everything had gone wrong, even before Elektra had gotten injured and had to move in with him while she recovered, how could he have expected Karen to stand placidly by, waiting without question right where he had left her, until he decided he was ready to resume what they had started? She had her own life to live, her own priorities to pursue, with or without him. And that’s exactly what she did. Like Foggy, she had walked away without a backward glance. And with Elektra’s death, he was left all alone.

He loved Karen. That simple fact became all too clear, after he had lost her. He knew the strength of his feelings by the strength of the ache in his heart at her absence. Passionate, idealistic Karen, as direct and straightforward as Elektra was devious and manipulative.

Oh, he knew that Karen wasn’t always completely truthful. There were times when she withheld information. She had kept her investigative activities secret from him and Foggy, more than once. But those deceptions had been because she knew that they would have tried to stop her, to talk her out of what she was determined to do. Karen lied in order to preserve her own freedom of action, not to constrain his. She never tried to pull his strings, the way Elektra did as naturally as breathing.

He had loved Elektra when he was young and stupid and knew nothing about love. She was unlike anyone he’d ever met before, daring and exciting, and the ways she constantly challenged him had been part of her appeal. But he knew now that it had all been carefully calculated, that she had drawn him in with a specific goal in mind. She told him she had fallen in love with him, against orders and surely against her own expectation. But even as she loved him she had manipulated him, pushing his boundaries, trying her best to erode his moral framework, encouraging his worst impulses.

What he felt for her now, strong as it was, was not love. It was a bond made of shared history, and shared experience, and the likenesses between them that had drawn him so irresistibly in the first place. But Karen was like him too, in better, less destructive ways. Her passion for justice, her determination that right should win over wrong. Her compassion, that Elektra lacked utterly. And there was shared history there, as well—he had known Karen for over a year before she had stopped talking to him, longer than the entire time he had spent with Elektra, past and present. They had shared danger, working together to defeat Wilson Fisk, and trying to help Frank Castle; and they had shared one of the happiest periods of his whole life, between those two events.

Elektra’s death had hurt him deeply, and he mourned her sincerely. But he had recognized early on that some part of the pain he felt was simply guilt. She had died to save him, and in his heart he didn’t believe he was worth such a sacrifice. So, like a good Catholic, he had taken his guilt to his confessor, and gone to see Father Lantom shortly after her death.

He had omitted certain details, as he always did when coming to the old priest for counsel. But he laid bare his own actions, and their effects on the people he cared about—not only Elektra, but Foggy and Karen too. He told how Elektra had wanted to try to change, to break free of her allegiance to her teacher, and how ultimately she had died saving his life.

Father Lantom nodded and sighed. “I know how it feels to survive something you didn’t expect to survive, Matthew, which I think is part of what you’re dealing with. I’ve seen other people die while I lived, and known that I was no more deserving of life then they were. But for someone to deliberately give their life for yours, that’s harder to accept. It’s a heavy burden, and one you never asked for.”

He stirred his coffee meditatively. “But she made a choice. You wanted her to be free to choose, and that’s what she did. You need to respect that, and let her go. She’s in God’s hands now, beyond being harmed, or used, or saved, by anyone down here. You’d be better off focusing on the living, and trying to fix what can still be fixed.”

Easier said than done. He had tried. He had apologized to Foggy, leaving a message when he had realized that Foggy was never going to take his calls. He had apologized to Karen, and told her the truth he should have told her long ago. And both of them just wanted him to stay away. All he could do was wait, and mourn the dead, and pray that he hadn’t lost forever the two people he loved most.

Until tonight, when chance had intervened, and Karen’s route home led her past an alley where he was taking care of business. To suddenly be near her again, to hear her voice after her long silence, only emphasized what he already knew: he loved her. He loved her. All those weeks, he had taken comfort in the thought that she was moving on with her life, forging a new path as Foggy had done. He liked to think that they were happy, even if he was excluded from their happiness.

But clearly, Karen was anything but happy.

Would she come over to talk? He made it home faster than he expected, and wondered how much time he had before she might arrive. He badly wanted a shower. If she wasn’t coming, there was no reason not to take the time and have it. And if she was coming, he would rather not be covered in sweat.

He turned on some lights, hoping they would be needed. Then he stripped off the suit and stepped into the shower, feeling every bruise he’d acquired in the fight. He meant to be quick, but the hot water soothed his tired muscles, and he couldn’t resist lingering a little longer than necessary. He was just drying off when he heard a knock on the apartment door. He hadn’t thought to bring clean clothes into the bathroom with him. _Dammit._ He wrapped the towel around his waist and hurried to the door, feeling undignified, his hair dripping.

“Hi, come in,” he greeted Karen.

“Oh! Um. Hi,” she answered, clearly startled. Her heart rate increased as she stepped inside, and Matt felt his face flush unexpectedly.

“I was just, uh.” He rubbed a hand over his wet hair. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming, so I went ahead and got cleaned up. I’ll, uh. I’ll go and get dressed.” He turned away, then turned back to say earnestly, “Thank you. I’m glad you’re here.” She didn’t answer—he didn’t expect her to—and he headed for the bedroom, feeling nervous.

Karen stared after him, her heart slowly calming back down to normal. The sight of Matt clad only in a towel had abruptly flooded her with desire, undeniable and disconcerting. He was _gorgeous._ His body was lean and muscular, as perfectly proportioned as a classical work of art. She was suddenly keenly aware of exactly how long it had been since she last had sex. 

She watched him walk away, a little breathless, and noticed that he wasn’t feeling his way along the wall. He moved with confidence, walking the way Daredevil walked, and she realized that he wasn’t pretending, wasn’t putting on the act of being an ordinary blind man that she was so accustomed to. She felt both pleased and irritated—it seemed he meant what he’d said about not lying to her any more, but at the same time, seeing him so unguarded only underlined just how much he’d been hiding from her before.

She hung up her coat, remembering despite herself the feel of his hand on her cheek, his arms around her, his lips on hers. She scowled and went to the living room, pulling herself together. _You’re here to talk. Nothing else._ She wondered for a cynical moment if he had planned that little display of near-nudity, but quickly dismissed the idea. He seemed genuinely flustered, and she doubted he could blush like that at will.

When he emerged from the bedroom, she thought that he certainly wasn’t trying to entice her with his choice of clothing. Sweatpants and a T-shirt weren’t usually what a man wore if he was trying to impress. He was toweling his hair, and he disappeared into the bathroom briefly to hang up the towel.

When Matt came out of the bathroom, Karen was standing just inside the living room, next to the entryway. As if she wanted to be ready to turn and leave at any moment. He had heard her take off her coat and hang it up, and set down her purse. But apparently sitting down in one of his chairs was more of a commitment than she was prepared to make. He sighed internally. What did he expect? The fact that she was here at all was more than he could have dared to hope for an hour ago. He had no cause for complaint.

He went to the kitchen for some water. “Can I get you anything?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be.

“No.” After a moment of silence, she added a reluctant “Thank you.” She moved a little closer to the kitchen, still staying near the entryway. “I’m not…this isn’t…”

“Isn’t a social call? No, I suppose it isn’t.” He came back to the living room and stood, leaning on the back of the couch and drinking his water.

Karen watched him, suddenly uncertain. He had said he would listen, if she wanted to yell at him. But now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how to begin. He looked tired, she couldn’t help noticing. Was he hurt? He had seemed to move easily enough, back in the alley, but he’d been full of adrenaline then. If he was hurt, she had a feeling he wouldn’t admit it.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine.”

Of course.

“What about you, though?” he went on. “Back there…you said your life’s gone to shit. What happened? You didn’t lose your job at the Bulletin, did you?”

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, no. I’ve still got the job, for what it’s worth. But it’s pointless, I’m not allowed to cover actual news. ‘No one wants to hear it, Karen.’ ‘It won’t sell papers, Karen.’ And I’m earning practically nothing, the Bulletin is _broke._ They pay me less than you did. And for what? I am writing _garbage_ and living paycheck to paycheck, I was late with the rent again this month, I’m probably going to be evicted, and all because you—“

She took a deep breath, warming to her subject. “Do you know what Nelson & Murdock meant to me? Do you have any idea? We did good, we helped people. But it was more than that. To me, it was _home._ It was friendship, and happiness, and hope, it was my safe place when the nightmares came. It was _everything!_ ”

Matt felt cold. “Nightmares?” he asked.

“After everything that happened last year? Yeah, you bet. Nightmares. Once things calmed down, they went away. Because I had friends, and a place to belong, and a chance to make a difference. Security. Something to believe in. But now? They’re coming back again. And my safe place is gone, Matt! I put everything I had into Nelson and fucking Murdock. Every good thing about my life was in that office.” Her words tore at him savagely.

“That was my own choice, I know. But how could I have known what you would do? I _trusted_ you. I thought nothing was more important to you than that law firm. It was your dream, ever since you and Foggy were in law school, I assumed you would do everything you could to make it a success. I had _no idea_ that you had other priorities. I had _no idea_ what a risk I was actually taking, going all in the way I did. Because you deliberately kept the truth from me.”

If she had known, would she have chosen any differently? If she was being honest with herself, maybe not. But it hardly mattered now. He had denied her the ability to make an informed choice, and the choice she had made had fallen to pieces because of his actions.

Matt had thought that he knew the measure of his guilt. All these weeks, he had thought that he knew how much he had hurt her. But the truth was worse than he had imagined.

Karen saw the look of shocked consternation on his face. It gave her no comfort. “Even my friendship with Foggy is tainted, because we can’t even talk to each other without thinking about you,” she accused. “He has little enough time to begin with, he has so much to do trying to prove himself at his new job. But then, when he does have time to see me, it’s like you’re there too, haunting us like a goddamn ghost!”

“Karen, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shaking a little despite himself. “I never intended that. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Whether you intended it or not, Matt, that’s what you _did._ ”

“I couldn’t give you what you wanted, what you deserve. I was trying to do too much. I had to choose between holding on to you and Foggy, or saving the city. I chose the city. I was willing to sacrifice my own happiness in the process.”

“But you sacrificed our happiness as well, don’t you see that?”

“I thought you’d be better off without me,” he said softly.

“But that isn’t your decision to make!” she retorted, not softly at all. “That is exactly what’s wrong with you, Matt, you think you know best, and you withhold relevant information, and you make unilateral decisions about things that affect other people, too, without giving us any say in the matter!”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Are you, though?” she countered angrily. “If you had it to do over again, would you really do things any differently?”

“Some things, yes,” he answered, more firmly. “I would tell you the truth, much sooner. I would trust you enough to take the risk. I wouldn’t try to get closer to you, to start a relationship with you, without being honest with you about who I am.”

“You realize, don’t you, that that only made it hurt even worse when you shut me out? You gave me hope, and then you took it away again.”

“I never stopped caring about you,” he said quietly.

“So you say. While you were giving all your time and attention to your ex. Not a very convincing argument.”

“You know why I did. You know what happened.”

“I do. You told me. Just not at the time, when it might have made a difference. What I know is, from the time she walked in your door until the day she died, you chose Elektra, every time there was a choice to be made. You abandoned me, you abandoned Foggy, and you did whatever she asked of you.”

“Is that what you think?” he asked, stung. “Karen, I disagreed with her at every turn! I didn’t always do what she wanted. She told me not to save that hostage bus you were on, she would have let all of you die without a second thought. I chose you, then.”

“And I appreciate that you saved us. Don’t think I don’t. But that wasn’t about me, and you know it. You still would have saved that bus, even if I wasn’t on it. If the best you can say is that you care about me as much as you care about Turk Barrett, forgive me if I’m not impressed.”

Matt could feel his emotions fraying. Grief, and remorse, threatened to overwhelm him. Karen seemed determined to think the worst of him, and he could hardly blame her. “I’m sorry,” he said again, helplessly. “I care for you much more than that, truly. I want you to be happy. I thought that you’d find a new place to belong, new friends, a new purpose.”

“I’ve been trying,” she told him, feeling suddenly weary, exhausted by the constant struggle. A feeling of hopelessness rose up to join her anger. “It isn’t working this time.” She thought of her past. She’d been worse off then this, before she moved to New York. Then, she had left everything behind. Was that the answer? Was she failing to move on now because this time she didn’t want to let go?

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” she said dully. “Trying to hold onto my job at the Bulletin. Trying to hold on to Foggy. Maybe I need to just leave, and start over somewhere else.”

“Leave? You mean leave the city? Karen, no!” He felt a surge of panic at the thought. If she left, then all hope was gone. 

_Don’t leave me I love you_

His heart thudded in his ears, a feeling of reckless despair urging him to action—what action, he hardly knew.

“Please, Karen, don’t go. Don’t leave.”

“Give me one good reason why not!” she flared.

In an instant, he closed the gap between them, his hands finding her arms and sliding up to her shoulders, pulling her close.

She stiffened in outrage, even as the treacherous tide of desire flooded her again. Her hands curled into fists— _how dare he?_ —but he didn’t dare, quite. He stopped, his face inches from hers. There was tension in every line of him, and she could feel how the hand he raised to her cheek trembled, but his touch was light. He waited, his face full of longing, and apprehension, plainly leaving the choice up to her.

She relaxed. And then, before she could think better of it, she swayed forward and kissed him.

He caught his breath in surprise, but recovered immediately, one arm sliding around her, pressing her body to his. This was nothing like the tame, sweet kisses she’d had from Matt before. This was something passionate and wild, his lips moving over hers hungrily. He kissed her like he was drowning and she was the air, like he was a sinner in purgatory and she was his only hope of heaven.

Karen’s blood burned in her veins, melting the frozen core of her into something warm and liquid. Matt’s tongue flicked over her lips and she opened to him eagerly. She wrapped her arms around him, feeling the muscles of his back shift and move under her hands, but it wasn’t enough. She slipped a hand up under the hem of his shirt, and a groan vibrated in his throat at the feel of her skin touching his.

They clung together, kissing open-mouthed and deep, kissing like they never meant to stop.

 _We should stop,_ Matt thought confusedly. He’d acted on impulse, never expecting Karen to respond so whole-heartedly. She was upset, he shouldn’t be taking advantage of that. But his whole body cried out for her. He’d been missing her, wanting her, loving her hopelessly for months. And she wanted him, too—he could feel the flush of her skin, could hear the pounding of her heart, could smell the desire seeping from her pores. And most of all, he could feel how she pressed against him, her body pliant and alive, her mouth hot and insistent on his.

With an effort, he forced his lips away from hers and pressed their foreheads together.

“Ah, don’t stop,” she gasped, and the husky, needy sound of her voice only fed his own desire, weakening his resolve.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his own voice breathless and rough. “You’re upset, you’re angry, you might…you might regret it later.”

She tipped her head, chasing his lips, but he fended her off. She made a frustrated sound and pressed herself even closer to him, rocking her hips against his and making them both moan sharply.

“I might regret it if we do this,” she conceded. “But I’ll take that risk. I’m _definitely_ going to regret it if we don’t.”

He still hesitated, and her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt. “Or are you turning me down again?” she asked, her voice abruptly hard and bitter. “Making me think you want me, and then just walking away?”

“Karen, no,” he protested, stroking her cheek and feeling the hard, unyielding set of her jaw. “I do want you. So much. I would _love_ to…” He winced, remembering the last time he had told her that.

She gave a short, mirthless laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

Right before he had left her at her front door, and gone off to meet Elektra instead of accepting her invitation. God, no wonder she was bitter and suspicious. And she was a grown woman, able to make her own choices, and she was making her choice perfectly clear. 

Matt gave in, kissing her once more with renewed urgency. She bit his lip sharply, drawing a sound from him that was equal parts pained and aroused, before sliding her tongue into his mouth and tugging up his shirt to get both her hands on his warm skin. He snaked one arm low around her hips, pressing against her, his cock hardening and straining toward her in the loose sweatpants.

If Karen wanted his body, she could have it. And if that was all she wanted from him, if she was just using him for sex, that was no more than he deserved. He would give her what she wanted—what they both wanted—to the best of his ability.

He turned them both and walked backward toward the bedroom door. She stumbled forward, unwilling to let go or to stop kissing him, and somehow they made it into the bedroom without falling.

She pulled his shirt up farther, and he let go of her to take it off, breaking their kiss just long enough to pull it over his head before finding her lips again. They devoured each other breathlessly, while Karen ran her hands eagerly over his skin. One hand slid into his hair while the other trailed over his chest, fingers finding a nipple and flicking across it. She smiled against his lips when he twitched and moaned softly.

He tipped his head back, and she dropped her mouth to the side of his throat, kissing and sucking, her teeth nipping at the spot where his neck joined his shoulder, dragging her lips along his collarbone.

Ah, god, how long had it been since someone touched him like this? Too long. The feel of her hands, her mouth, on his skin was intoxicating. He could feel himself getting increasingly hard, and increasingly desperate to get his own hands on her skin. She was frustratingly swathed in a bulky turtle-necked sweater, and he felt his way down her body to find the hem. Just as he reached it, she pulled away—but only to make enough space between them to bend down to lick and suck at the nipple she’d been stroking. He shivered, his breath catching in his throat, and reached for her shoulders, tugging at her sweater.

She made a low, breathy sound, not quite a laugh, and straightened up to pull the sweater over her head. As soon as it was off, he reached for her and pulled her back in, his lips moving along the line of her jaw, his breath warm on her neck, his tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive skin below her ear. She gasped and quivered as his hands explored her body, stroking over her bare skin.

His fingers trailed down her back, tracing the curve of her spine down to the softer curve of her ass, still hidden under a heavy winter skirt. He gripped her cheeks, pulling her forward and grinding against her while his lips returned to hers. He sucked her lower lip into his mouth and ran the tip of his tongue over it, and she groaned and rolled her hips, grabbing his shoulders, desire pulsing in her veins, her heart pounding like a drum.

He slid his hands up to her waist, and pulled away from her far enough to stroke his fingers over her flat stomach, upward to small, firm breasts, further up to collarbones and shoulders and the smooth column of her neck.

Catching sight of his intent expression, it flashed through Karen’s mind that Matt was touching her the way a sighted man might look at her—he was tracing the contours of her body, learning through his hands what his eyes weren’t able to see. But the thought was driven out a moment later, when his hands dropped back down to her breasts.

He bent to take a bra strap in his teeth and slide it down off her shoulder. One hand slipped beneath the cup, now hanging loose, and she shivered and gasped. He dealt with the other strap the same way, before reaching around behind her to unhook the clasp. She tossed the bra aside, and he cupped both breasts in his hands, thumbs stroking over her nipples. She clung to him, panting, her knees gone suddenly wobbly.

Her skin was soft and warm under his hands, raising into goosebumps at his touch. Her heartbeat thundered in his ears, as loud as his own. The musky scent of desire, his and hers, filled the air.

He turned to pull down the covers of the bed. She unzipped her skirt and dropped it to the floor, kicking off her shoes, then got into bed and lay back, the cool silk of the sheets smooth against her skin. She watched Matt shuck off his sweatpants and boxers all at once, taking in the sight of his naked body, his cock standing up hard against his stomach, anticipation coiling in her belly.

He climbed after her onto the bed, draping himself over her and returning his attention to her breasts. He took a nipple between his lips, sucking softly and insistently, and she moaned and arched her back, pressing up toward his mouth. He slipped a hand between her legs and stroked firmly, and she gasped “Ah, fuck,” breathless and urgent. He wondered if he could bring her to orgasm just doing this, as she twitched and shuddered beneath him.

But there was more he wanted to do. He sat up, earning a mournful sound of disappointment from Karen, and reached for her waistband, peeling her tights and panties down over her legs. Once she was naked, he trailed a line of kisses over her belly, heading downward from her navel. When he reached her pubic hair, he paused.

“Can I?” he asked.

For an instant, she hesitated. In her experience, there were far more men who _thought_ they were good at going down on a woman, than ones who actually were. And she was in no mood tonight to have it done badly. But everything else he had done so far had felt amazing. And he was _asking,_ not just assuming he knew what she would want.

“Yes,” she decided, spreading her legs wider to give him access. He slid lower, kissing the soft skin of her inner thigh, and settled between her legs. The smell of her was all around him now, and his cock twitched impatiently as he ran quick, exploratory fingers over her flesh. He got his bearings, and spread open the moist folds, and began to explore her again, more thoroughly, with his tongue.

A part of him wanted to go slowly, to make it last. Who knew if he would ever get another chance? But that very uncertainty filled him with a feverish urgency, driving him to chase her pleasure, and his own, without wasting a moment. Karen seemed to feel the same urgency—she had gone after what she wanted with single-minded directness; and even now, when she allowed him to take control, she responded to his touch with an eagerness that suggested she was not in a patient mood. So he worked quickly, his tongue flicking over her, stroking, probing along the folds of her flesh, and she shivered in reaction, swearing breathlessly.

Pleasure coursed through her, hot and electric. Oh, he was _good_ at this. He _paid attention_ to her responses, unerringly finding her most sensitive spots, sucking, tugging gently with his lips, circling with his tongue, staying just on the right side of too much stimulation, firing her nerve endings and driving all coherent thought out of her head. She writhed on the bed, clutching at the sheets, her breath panting out of her in inarticulate moans. Matt flung an arm across her hips to hold her steady. Tension built inside her, pleasure intensifying until it was almost unbearable, rising relentlessly until she burst suddenly into release, crying out as her body shuddered with the force of her orgasm.

Matt rested his cheek against her thigh for a moment, and lay a hand flat against her belly, all his senses taking her in as she came apart, and then finally relaxed, limp. His cock was throbbing now, straining and eager for his own release. He wiped his mouth on the sheet, and crawled up the bed. He was reaching for the drawer in his bedside table when he paused, arrested by a sudden doubt.

Karen saw the look of consternation that passed over his face. “No condoms?” she guessed, her heart sinking.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, pulling the drawer open and rummaging inside. “Oh, thank god,” he muttered fervently, as he felt a foil-wrapped strip right at the back of the drawer. “It’s been so long since I needed any, I couldn’t remember if I was out,” he told her with a feral grin.

That grin made her insides clench with desire, despite the fact that she’d just had an incredible orgasm. As soon as he finished rolling on a condom, she reached for him, pulling him close and kissing him deeply.

Their bodies pressed together from head to toe, skin touching skin, and Matt moaned into her mouth, rubbing himself against her as shamelessly as a cat. Pleasuring Karen had aroused him almost to the point of pain; the slide and drag of her skin against his threatened to undo him before he even got inside her.

She spread her legs, wrapping them around his, and took hold of his cock to guide him to her opening. He shuddered at the touch of her hand, and slipped into her body with a desperate groan. He knew he wasn’t going to last long, and he fought for a measure of control over the sensations overwhelming him.

He drew back, then slowly thrust in again, feeling her slick warmth enclose him, hearing her throaty “Ahhhhh” of appreciation. He began to roll his hips, rocking in and out with a steady, undulating motion. 

She gripped his shoulders, hitching a leg up to change the angle of thrust, moaning in pleasure at the feel of him stroking deep inside her.

The sound urged him on, and he moved faster, losing himself, surrounded by the smell of sex, the sound of heartbeats and ragged breaths and cries, the feel of skin and silk and tight, welcoming heat. Tension coiled at the base of his spine as he thrust harder, faster, his muscles trembling, his breath coming short, until suddenly he shouted, his head flung back, his body spasming with release.

He shuddered, his hips jacking forward a few more times, and then collapsed on top of her, turning his head away so he wasn’t panting in her face. He felt her fingers ruffle his hair as his pounding heart began to slow. But as his body calmed, a measure of uncertainty returned. What now? Under better circumstances, he would want to hold her, to keep touching, to tell her how much he loved her. But what did Karen want, under these circumstances?

He rolled away from her and peeled off the condom, then turned back and lay facing her. His face was open for her to read, his expression unguarded and tender, but hesitant. He reached out, running his hand softly down her arm, gently squeezing her hip.

“Can I?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she whispered, shifting closer and tucking herself against him as his arms went around her waist, holding her close. Her hand trailed over his back, tracing the line of a scar with gentle fingers. It felt so good, so right, to lie here with Matt, holding each other, warmed by the afterglow of passion. Her starved heart soaked up the feeling like rainwater in the desert.

The edge of her bitterness had been blunted, and she could admit to herself now that she had been wanting this for the last six months, at least. Matt clearly wanted her too—but she had thought once before that he wanted her, and look what happened. How much of her stubborn anger against him came simply from pain, that he had turned his back on her and rejected her? How could she trust this feeling, now? Sex, however spectacular, couldn’t fix all the things that were wrong between them.

“This doesn’t magically make everything better,” she said quietly.

“No, I know,” he answered. He stroked her hair back out of her face, and kissed her forehead. 

To her embarrassment, her stomach emitted a prolonged growl. Matt raised his eyebrows inquiringly. Karen blushed.

“I was going to eat something when I got home,” she said. “But then I didn’t go home.”

“All right, then,” he said. “Let’s go raid the kitchen, and see what I can come up with.”

“Oh, you don’t have to…” she protested, but it was half-hearted. Lying naked in his bed, it felt a little ridiculous to keep refusing his hospitality. And she was really hungry, now that he wasn’t distracting her from noticing.

He smiled. “You’re going hungry because of me, because you came over here to yell at me. It’s only fair that I make it up to you. And I’m hungry too, as a matter of fact.”

“Okay then,” she agreed. She watched him as he sat up and got out of bed, struck again by his sheer physical beauty. Seeing him now, naked, picking up his clothes off the floor, moving with the same smooth assurance that she’d noticed earlier, she couldn’t help but stare. God, he was sexy. She turned away reluctantly, and climbed out of bed to find her own clothes. They dressed, and walked together to the kitchen.

Matt got out a loaf of bread, and a block of cheese from the refrigerator. Looking over his shoulder, she saw that his refrigerator was nearly as barren as her own. It made her wonder for the first time how he was living—could he support himself all alone?

“Grilled cheese sandwich?” he offered.

“Sounds great.”

He went to work while she watched. She felt it would be polite to offer to help, but also felt that cooking together, even something as simple as grilled cheese, would imply a level of domestic intimacy that she wasn’t ready to accept. She was in an undefined, grey area: not quite a guest, hardly a friend, definitely not a date. What was the etiquette for a situation like this?

As he sliced cheese, he picked up the thread of their conversation. “We agreed,” he said quietly, “that sex isn’t enough to make everything better. Is there—what _would_ make it better? What can I do to try and fix things between us?”

She didn’t know how to answer. He had already told her the truth, apologized for the hurt he’d caused her, promised not to lie to her any more. If that wasn’t enough, what more could he do?

“Do you even want to fix things?” he asked hesitantly, when she didn’t speak. He placed the sandwiches neatly in the hot pan, and waited.

“I don’t know what I want,” she said finally. 

It wasn’t an outright refusal, at least. The tiny flicker of hope he’d felt before flared again.

Neither of them spoke again while the sandwiches finished cooking, but the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Matt got out plates, then returned to the refrigerator and checked inside.

“I’ve got one beer left,” he told her, bringing out a bottle. “Do you want to split it?”

“I can’t afford beer any more,” she said, a little envious.

“Me neither, that’s why there’s only one left.” He smiled. “I don’t enjoy drinking alone like I used to, somehow. I’d rather share it.” He raised his eyebrows in question.

“Okay, sure. Thank you.”

He got out two glasses and divided the beer between them, and together they carried plates and glasses over to the small table.

Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually enjoyed a meal, as opposed to eating simply because food was necessary. Karen’s presence made the difference, as ambiguous as their status was right now. She was here, and they were talking, and that was enough to make a grilled cheese sandwich and half a beer into the best meal he’d had in weeks.

Karen ate hungrily. The sandwich was warm and comforting, the cold beer a perfect complement to the cheese. She, too, recognized that she was enjoying the company, but she still felt cautious. She was far less angry now, but there were issues between them that hadn’t yet been resolved.

As they ate, she asked conversationally, “So you’re broke, too?”

He made a face. “Pretty near, yeah. I would help you, you know. I’d give you money, if I had any. And if you’d take it. But it’s slow going, trying to build a practice on my own. Especially when my clients are worse off than I am. I can’t refuse to help someone, and I can’t charge them more then they can afford to pay.”

He paused, then went on quietly, “I’d offer you your old job back—you don’t seem happy at the Bulletin, even aside from the money—but I can’t afford to pay you. But I want you to know…if I ever do have anything to offer you…I’d love to have you back again. If you wanted to come back.”

She heard the double meaning in his words, and studied his face carefully. Reading between the lines, she could see that his life must be lonely, and difficult. He said he wanted to fix things between them. But would he still want her, if he weren’t so alone in the world? What would he choose, if he could have anything—anyone—he wanted?

Abruptly, she decided to air her concerns.

“Matt,” she said bluntly, “Do you only want me back because Elektra’s dead?”

He sucked in a startled breath, but answered immediately. “No! Karen, no. I meant what I said earlier, I never stopped caring about you, even while she was here. I can understand you might find that hard to believe. But she and I, we weren’t…I told her I was seeing someone, I told her that you’re important to me.”

Karen felt anger flare again, her fragile contentment evaporating. “Really?” she said coolly. “You talked to her about me? About us? When you weren’t telling me a goddamn thing? Do you see how that’s really not helping your case?”

Matt felt defensive. Karen was seeing things all wrong, it wasn’t as if he’d been confiding in Elektra about his love life. He’d been angry, he’d been warning her off, making it clear that what she wanted from him wasn’t the only thing that mattered. Only…as time went on and things got worse, Elektra’s problems _had_ become the only thing that mattered, hadn’t they? Or at least, he had allowed them to become the thing that mattered most, crowding out his other concerns. And as his personal life fell to pieces, he had turned to Elektra for the emotional connection he had cut himself off from everywhere else. Karen was right to doubt him.

Karen watched his face, as his expression rapidly shifted from indignant, to thoughtful, to guilty. Her heart sank. She hadn’t realized until that moment how much she’d been hoping that he could explain away her doubts, that he could somehow convince her that he loved her. It surprised her how much it still hurt to have those hopes dashed.

“You’re right,” he said, resigned. “At first, all I wanted was to get rid of her. I thought I would help her, she would leave, and I could go back to my life. Back to you. But later, when things went wrong…I still cared for you. That never changed. But I couldn’t explain to you what I was doing, not without telling you the truth about me. And I wasn’t willing to do that. But Elektra already knew the truth. So, yes. I let her in, while I was shutting you out. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I did the easy thing, instead of the hard thing. I’m a coward.”

His voice took on a note of self-mockery. “I thought I was doing the hard thing. Saving the city! Sacrificing my own personal happiness for the greater good! But the fact is, I wasn’t prepared to do what I needed to do, to try and hold on to you. Telling you the truth, facing your anger, trying to gain back your trust. I couldn’t face it. I thought, I still do think, that I had to save the city. But I can see now that I was coping badly with all the pressure I was under. Turning to Elektra was easy, because I wasn’t hiding anything from her. She knew the truth, and she accepted it. Accepted me.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Karen asked. “Is that why you wouldn’t even give me the chance?”

Matt winced. “I was afraid,” he admitted. But he couldn’t help adding, “And I was right, wasn’t I? When I did tell you, you walked away and never spoke to me again until tonight.”

“Matt, you idiot,” she said, exasperated. “That’s not because you finally told me the truth, it’s because of everything else. Knowing about your enhanced senses, knowing that you’re Daredevil, does not make me care about you any less.” 

“Really?” He knew she wasn’t lying, but it was still hard to believe. “You don’t mind? Foggy never really accepted it, after he found out. It doesn’t…bother you?”

She shrugged. “I’m not Foggy. He’s never been comfortable with the idea of Daredevil, or of vigilantes in general. You know that’s not the case with me. What’s hard for me to accept is your behavior. I’ve been staying away from you because of what you did, the choices you made, the hurt you caused me. Finally telling me the truth is point in your favor, not against. But I still need to know: did you only do it because Elektra died? If you still had her, would you still be doing the easy thing?”

Matt sighed. It was a fair question. “I don’t love her the way…” _(the way I love you)_ “…the way I used to. I wasn’t indifferent, I admit it. But it wasn’t…I wanted to help her. She was trying to change, to become something better than the killer she was trained to be.”

“And she needed your help to do that? How convenient.” Karen knew her voice was turning hard again, but she didn’t care. “You know, other people manage to overcome their pasts, and make a change for the better, without dragging their hot ex-boyfriends into it.”

“Karen, that’s not fair. She didn’t drag me anywhere, I wanted to help.”

“Of course you did. While I was refusing to let you help me, or protect me. Is that what this was all about? Is that what you want, Matt, a woman you can save?”

Matt looked like she’d slapped him, and she felt a pang of remorse. What had happened to her, these last few months? What was she becoming, that it was so easy to lash out at him?

“I’m sorry,” she said carefully, after a moment. “That was harsh. But Matt, this matters. I need to know. I can’t compete with a ghost, I can’t live with worrying that you might be thinking, ‘If only…’” she trailed off uncertainly.

“If only she had lived? But I do think that,” he answered sadly. “If only she had lived, so she could be free to make her own choices. So she could decide for herself who she was and how she wanted to live her life.” He reached across the table and took her hand. “But not, If only she and I could be together again. I promise, that’s not what I want. If she had lived, I would wish her a long and happy life. But not with me. Truly, Karen, you don’t ever need to fear that you’re some kind of second-best to me. I wish there were something I could do to prove it to you. But there isn’t. All I can do is say it, tell you the truth, and hope that you can believe me.”

God, that _sincerity_. “I believe that you believe it,” she said. “And it’s good to hear. Really good. But I’m…” she sighed, and shook her head, trying to put her resistance into words. “When my life falls apart, I get hard. Angry, and bitter, and unforgiving. It isn’t pleasant. I don’t like being this way, but it’s how I protect myself. And it’s not easy to just snap out of it.”

“And not easy to believe someone who’s already hurt you once, just because he says he’s telling the truth? I understand. It’s no more than I deserve.” He paused, while the rest of what she’d said sank in. “Has this happened before?” he asked curiously. “Your life falling apart? There was last year, when we first met. But you weren’t this bitter, then. Has it happened before that?”

“Yes. Right before I moved here to New York. It’s why I moved, in fact.” She shook her head again, and squeezed his hand. “I’d rather not get into the details right now. But some bad things happened, and I made some bad choices…it was just bad all around, you know? So bad that finally I left, to get away from it. To get away from myself, the way I was then, as much as from what happened. I cut myself loose, from everything and everyone, and never looked back. I came here, alone, and started over.”

He felt a wave of sympathy. “And that’s why you said before, maybe you should just leave? Is that what you want?”

“No. Not really. It’s just what worked before. I like it here, or at least I did. When I was happy. But I haven’t been happy in a long time. And this city can be a terribly lonely place, when things are bad.”

Matt nodded in understanding. “Yeah. I know.”

“I don’t want to leave, I just want to get away from this unhappiness. This futility. Something has to change.”

“If there’s any way that I can help…” he began, and then paused, looking thoughtful. “You know, there is one thing I can offer you. I hesitate to bring it up, under the circumstances. But. If you do need to move out of your place in a hurry, before you’ve found something else…you could stay here. I’m not asking you to move in with me permanently,” he went on quickly, before she could object. “But I won’t see you made homeless. I don’t have any money to offer you, but I’ve got plenty of space. If you need it, the option is there.”

Whatever she was expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. She was touched by his generosity, even though she did _not_ want to be dependent on his kindness that way. She still barely knew how she felt about the man. But it did ease her anxiety, to know she had a safety net of sorts. Matt’s apartment was familiar, and safe, and clean, and she knew he would never try to take advantage of the situation. She had thought, a few hours ago, that she could never trust him again. But in some respects, she did trust him, without question and beyond doubt. It was a comforting realization.

“Thank you,” she said, and sighed. “That’s very kind of you. I hope I won’t need to take you up on it, but I’ll keep in in mind.”

“You’ll turn things around,” he reassured her. “You are so capable, and so strong, and so stubborn, you’ll do whatever you set your mind to.”

“You think?” she asked, smiling a little. How did he manage to make _stubborn_ sound like a compliment?

“Absolutely. You deserve happiness, Karen. I know people don’t always get what they deserve. But still. Whatever happened in the past, I know you’re a good person.”

 _You’d be surprised._

“That’s what I want to be. That’s what I’ve tried to be. I’m trying to do good at the Bulletin, but I feel like Ellison won’t let me. It’s so frustrating! There is trouble everywhere you look in this city, and he doesn’t want to hear about it. No matter what I’ve managed to dig up so far, he won’t print it.”

Matt sat up straighter in his chair. “You’re still looking, though? Still finding stories?”

“Sure, but what’s the use? How can I do any good, if I can’t _tell_ people what I find out?”

“You can tell me,” he suggested.

She stared at him in surprise. The simplicity of it, and the obviousness, shocked her into silence. Why hadn’t she thought of that? In her determination to make a difference, to clean up the city, why had it never occurred to her that she had Daredevil’s phone number?

Because she’d been trying not to think about Matt at all, that’s why.

He went on, “Most of what I’ve been doing out there lately is stopping individual, isolated crimes. And god knows, there will always be more of those than I can ever hope to keep up with. But the larger, more powerful criminal elements are harder to get a grip on. And you are a very good investigator. You’re smart, and fearless, and determined.”

“Stubborn?” she suggested, and he smiled.

“Any information you can give me would help. I know it’s not the same as dragging the wrongdoers into the public eye, but I can try to stop them, at least.”

When she remained silent, he added hesitantly, “And it wouldn’t have to mean…we can work together, can’t we, no matter what you decide about…anything else.”

“Of course we can,” she said firmly. “Stopping them is what matters, publicity is just a means to an end. It’s a great idea, I’m just shocked I never thought of it myself.” She smiled, her frustrated sense of purpose suddenly alive to new possibilities.

But one thing was puzzling her. “Matt, are you _encouraging_ me to keep investigating? You aren’t going to tell me to stay out of trouble? To stay safe?”

“I want you to stay safe, of course,” he told her earnestly. “But I don’t have any right to tell you what to do. And I think you’ll do it anyway, no matter what I say. You already are.”

“Yeah, I am. And you never managed to stop me before,” she agreed.

“But I will say, be careful. Please.”

It was a reasonable request, even coming from him. She thought about the dangers he faced, the risks he took, and for the first time allowed herself to consider how she would feel if he were seriously injured. If he were killed. Her mind flinched away from the thought.

“I will if you will, _Daredevil,_ ” she answered.

And Matt smiled, suddenly feeling happier than he had in a long time. She had spoken seriously, but his sensitive hearing had caught the thread of affection in her tone. Actual affection, for Daredevil, for the hidden side of him he’d been so reluctant to reveal. Had his fear that she wouldn’t accept him really been all for nothing? And she worried about his safety, just as he worried about hers. It had been months since anyone cared if he got hurt.

Karen’s heart skipped unexpectedly at Matt’s bright smile. She hadn’t seen him look like that in so long, it was like the sun coming up after a stormy night. He had smiled like that on their one date, before everything had gone to hell. He looked like _her_ Matt again.

But the stresses of the day were catching up with her, and she yawned suddenly.

“It’s late,” said Matt. “Would you be willing to sleep here? I don’t want to send you back out into the cold at this time of night. I’ll take the couch, you don’t have to share the bed with me.”

She considered, yawning again. “All right. I’ll stay. But you don’t need to sleep on the couch.” She smiled a little. “After what we’ve already done on that bed, sleeping in it together doesn’t seem like that big a deal.”

He smiled too, a small grin that made her heart skip again. “Okay. I’ll find you something to sleep in.” He stood up and went to the bedroom, and she followed. He got out a T-shirt and flannel pants and handed them to her, and she went off the the bathroom to get ready for bed.

Whatever uncertainty still lingered about her feelings for Matt, the determined anger she had nursed for so long was gone. It was time to stop blaming him for everything that was wrong with her life. She had always had options, she had just been too stubborn to take them. She could have started looking for another job as soon as Ellison had told her she wasn’t going to be allowed to cover hard news. Or, if she was determined to stay there and make the best of it, she could have at least _tried_ asking for a raise. What did she have to lose? She could have admitted to Foggy how bad things really were, and asked for his help.

She could have talked to Matt sooner. Matt, who was now offering her a different way of doing good; a roof over her head, if she needed it; an end to her loneliness, if she wanted him back. There were still decisions that needed to be made, but there was no doubt her prospects were looking far less hopeless than they had been a short time ago.

She flushed the toilet, and washed her hands, and put on Matt’s clothes. She couldn’t help but remember the first time he had lent her his shirt, and a bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. They had quite a history together, she and Matt. And despite what she had once thought, it wasn’t over yet.

When she returned to the bedroom, carrying her neatly folded clothes, Matt was tidying the bed. He pulled the covers straight, then turned to her and smiled.

“Have you got your clothes there? You can put them on top of the dresser.”

He slipped out for his own quick visit to the bathroom, then went through the apartment turning off the lights he’d turned on earlier.

Karen got into bed, on the side farther from the bedside table, and made herself comfortable. She’d been tired already, as she made her way home, before she’d ever run into Matt. Now, she was exhausted. But she also felt more at peace than she had in months. Between the two, she certainly ought to sleep well. But just in case, when Matt came back and climbed in beside her, she warned him: “If I have any bad dreams tonight, I hope I don’t disturb you too much. I may startle awake, or…or yell.”

Matt looked troubled, but nodded in understanding. “If it happens, don’t worry about it. And if there’s anything I can do to help, it’s yours.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He settled himself and tried to relax, but he couldn’t help asking, “Does that happen often? What do you dream about?”

“It’s unpredictable, that’s the trouble. I might go a couple of weeks with nothing, or I might have several nightmares in the course of a week.” What she dreamed about, that was trickier to answer—he would know if she lied, but she wasn’t prepared to tell him everything tonight. She settled for a partial truth. “It’s the same dreams I used to have last year, after…after Ben was killed. Sometimes it’s Fisk, coming to kill me. Or sometimes, I see other people being killed, usually you and Foggy.” She shivered at the thought. _Please, not tonight._

Matt stiffened, frowning in sudden consternation. How could he have forgotten? Wilson Fisk might be in prison, but he was by no means powerless. The threat he still posed was all too real, and he couldn’t allow Karen to be put in danger.

“Matt, what is it?” She saw alarm on his face, and horror, before his expression hardened into determination. When he didn’t speak, she reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Matt! Whatever it is, you have to tell me. You said you weren’t going to hide things from me anymore!”

The grim lines of his face softened slightly. “You’re right.” He reached up and put his hand over hers. “I…went to visit Fisk in prison, just after Frank Castle escaped,” he told her. “I thought, I still do think, that he engineered Frank’s escape somehow.”

“You think Frank was working with Fisk?”

“Not that, no. But I think it suits Fisk very well to have Frank on the loose, killing off people who might pose a challenge to Fisk. He intends to get out himself, one way or another. He has power, Karen, even inside a prison. And…he threatened me. He told me that when he does get out, he intends to destroy me and Foggy.”

She stared at him. “Which means he’ll come after me, too. I helped you bring him down.”

“He might overlook you. He might not bother targeting our former secretary—as long as you don’t still have any connection to us.”

Her stomach turned cold and sick as she saw what he was suggesting. “Matt. No. You can’t.”

“If being close to me puts you in danger—“

“NO!” she shouted, panic and anger surging through her. She grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands. “Dammit, Matt, no! Don’t you dare push me away again, don’t you _dare_ —“ her voice choked off on a sob, a lump rose in her throat, and suddenly she was crying.

He was going to leave her, he was going to abandon her again, and she couldn’t bear it. Her own uncertain feelings were suddenly as clear as crystal, all doubts vanished. With all her heart, she wanted him back. But now, just as her life began to look less hopeless, just as she recognized and accepted how much she cared for him, he was going to try and take it all away from her again, for her own safety. And she had no energy left to fight him.

“Don’t leave me,” she gasped through her tears. All the disappointment and loneliness and frustration she’d lived with for months, the anger and anxiety she’d kept bottled up inside as her life fell apart around her, came rushing out.

Matt listened, appalled, to the torrent he’d unleashed. Her whole body shook with sobs, and he gathered her into his arms and held her close, rubbing her back and trying to comfort her. Loving her would put a target on her back. But pushing her away would break his heart, and, it seemed, to his surprise, hers too. He felt his own eyes prickle with tears. He couldn’t hurt her again, after everything she’d already been through. There had to be another way.

“Shhhh, sweetheart,” he murmured into her hair, around the lump in his throat, the endearment falling from his lips so naturally he barely noticed what he was saying. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” Her face was buried against his chest, but he kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart, shhhh.”

The initial violence of her outburst didn’t last long. His voice and his touch were soothing, and she clung to him, listening, as her sobs began to ease. Did he mean what he was saying, or was he just trying to calm her down? She lifted her head, pulling back just far enough to see his face.

“Don’t leave me,” she demanded, hating the quaver in her voice, but needing to hear him say it.

“I won’t leave you,” he said, very seriously. He brushed the tears from her cheeks with gentle fingers. “If you want me, Karen, I’m yours.”

She took a deep, shaking breath, and relaxed against him, her face tucked into his neck. “Yes,” she whispered. She cried for a little while longer, the tired, quiet tears of exhaustion, and he held her, brushing small, soft kisses along her hairline. His heart was full. The fear of what might come in the future couldn’t entirely dim his joy, unexpected and overpowering, that Karen wanted him back.

When her tears finally stopped, she sighed, and sniffled, and wound an arm around his waist. “You mean it?” she asked quietly. “You aren’t going to try and push me away for my own good?”

“I mean it,” he assured her. She sniffled again. He let go of her long enough to reach for the box of tissues on the bedside table, and she let go of him long enough to blow her nose. Then he opened his arms, and she snuggled in close, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He leaned into the touch, rubbing against her hand.

“I’m sorry I made you cry,” he murmured. “I never expected you to take it as badly as that.”

“Of course you didn’t,” she answered, with a tired smile. “I didn’t, either. All night, I’ve been telling myself to be cautious, that I’m still not sure how I feel about you. But once I thought I was about to lose you again, I got sure in a damn hurry. I’m sorry it took so long for me to figure it out.” 

She leaned in to kiss him, just once, then continued: “But Matt, seriously now. Even if you and I weren’t together, I’m still friends with Foggy. If Fisk got out, and started targeting the two of you, what then? Do you really think I’d just stand by and do nothing?”

“That does seem unlikely,” he admitted.

“You’re damn right it does. I would try to stop him. I would try to help you. So you can’t keep me safe by refusing to be with me. Whereas if you stay close to me, you’ll be in a better position to protect me.”

He shook his head at her, fighting a smile. “That is a very devious argument, Karen. I should invite you back into the firm as a partner.”

She grinned. “Let me know when the firm can afford to pay me, and we’ll talk.”

Who knew what the future might bring? There was more to look forward to, much more, than just trouble and danger.

“If Fisk does get out, we’ll know,” he told her. “Whether by legal means or by escaping, either way it’ll be news. And we’ll figure something out.”

“We?” she asked, smiling.

“We,” he answered firmly. “It seems I have this bad habit,” he went on, his eyes crinkling despite his serious tone, “of making unilateral decisions about things that affect other people, too, without giving them any say in the matter. I’ve been told I need to work on that.”

“Sounds like good advice,” she said gravely.

Then she smiled again, and kissed him, slow this time, and deep. He returned the kiss fervently, pressing close to her. She slid her fingers into his hair, he slipped a hand under the hem of her shirt to touch her skin. Neither of them had the desire, or the energy, for anything more tonight. Just this was enough. Lying in each other’s arms, kissing, soft and heated and perfect—apologies for the past, promises for the future, all wrapped up in this moment.

Finally, reluctantly, Karen broke away, pressing her forehead to his. “I don’t think I can stay awake any longer,” she murmured regretfully, “even for this.” She tipped her head for one more kiss.

“Go to sleep, then,” he told her, smiling. “I’ll be right here in the morning.”

“Mmmmm,” she answered contentedly, already drifting off.

Matt lay awake a little longer, listening as her heartbeat slowed and her breathing deepened, feeling her body relax into boneless heaviness against his. It felt like a small miracle that she was here, asleep in his arms. He was being given another chance, and he silently promised that this time, he wouldn’t let her down.

He whispered, “I love you,” and finally closed his eyes, and followed her into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> -I really do think that reporter is a great job for Karen. But I don't think the show set it up very plausibly.
> 
> -I made Ellison more like his season 1 self, for more angst, and because I think his kinder, gentler season 2 self was weird and unbelievable.
> 
> -Stumbling across a fight in an alley is _always_ a good way to run into Daredevil unexpectedly.
> 
> -I could have ended this with them going to bed, with no further conversation. But I wanted Karen to be certain of her choice, and sometimes the best way to be sure about something is to face the possibility of losing it. Also, I am a huge sucker for people comforting the tears of the people they love. And anyway, Matt was bound to think of the Fisk danger sooner or later, so better to get it out in the open and deal with it right away.
> 
> -That last bit has Karen reading Matt's expression a lot, after he turned off all the lights. But I'm okay with that. There must still be a lot of ambient light in his bedroom from the billboard outside, even if it's not as bright as in the living room.


End file.
